Prison Break
by SniperNinjaKitty
Summary: Soldier 76 gets captured by Talon trying to sneak data out of their base of operations. Luckily for him, he was trained in the military on how to deal with terrorists and imprisonment. Unfortunately for him, that terrorist is Reaper.
1. Chapter 1

This was the fourteenth—fifteenth, sixteenth day maybe, his memory was starting to get foggy—day in a row that Jack had been strung up in this damned concrete room. He was starting to think that Talon was running out of ways to torture him. Each day they would come in, hurt him in some way while trying to extract info from him, and each day they would leave resultless and even more frustrated. They picked the wrong Overwatch member to kidnap.

Back during his SEP days, he and his fellow super soldiers had been trained extensively on how to resist interrogation and torture. "Hell Week", the recruits had called it. A week filled with every method imaginable, from waterboarding to electrocution. You had two chances, and the minute you spilled the second time you were out of the program. Like basic, but a hell of a lot worse. Jack remembered he slept for a solid two days straight after the week was over. Gabriel had made fun of him for it, but he learned later that he had only woken up mere hours before him.

Jack had been hanging in the room for what felt like hours now, dangling from his bound wrists. They hadn't bothered with the bag over his head this time, thank god, but his arms had fallen asleep an hour ago. Shifting in the restraints brought little comfort. He hoped that they would just get this done and over with so he could go back to his cell and get some damn sleep.

As if by command, Jack's ears perked up as heavy bootsteps fell outside. There was the sound of numbers being input into a keypad and the heavy door swung open. There stood Reaper, clad all in black with that stupid skull mask just as before. "Hello, Soldier 76."

Jack didn't respond, instead choosing to stare down the figure. He watched as the masked man strode across the room, stopping mere feet in front of him, invading his personal space.

"I heard that you haven't been cooperating lately."

"..."

Reaper sighed dramatically, the sound escaping his mask like a low growl instead. He began pacing, taking slow languid steps around the soldier. "This would go a lot easier if you would just cooperate with us. I don't want to be here wasting my precious time, and I'm sure you don't either. Not that we could just let you go, as I'm sure you know, but we could certainly make your current predicament more… comfortable for you. All we need to know is who all was contacted during the Overwatch recall."

"Screw you." Jack smirked. "There's nothing you can do to me that hasn't already been done."

"We'll see about that."

"What are you going to do, angst me to death?" Reaper backhanded him, hard. The spikes on his glove dug into Jack's skin, tearing through. He cursed, spitting onto the floor. Damn that hurt! Fucking spiked edgelord gloves! Blood began trickling out from the wound, crimson steadily pooling onto the concrete floor below him.

"Talk."

"Screw you." A punch to the gut this time. Jack wheezed, desperately tried to suck in air in shallow gasps, but it felt as though a five-ton weight had been strapped to his chest. As he was getting his wind back, there was another blow to his gut. And another one. The weight became twenty-pounds, his diaphragm violently spasming from the onslaught of punches. He couldn't breath.

"Talk."

Jack had meant to respond with a smart-assed remark, but all he could do was gape his mouth like a water-starved fish as he gasped and stared at the ground in anxiety-ridden bewilderment.

"What, nothing to say now?" Reaper chuckled darkly, "Then I guess I'm done with you for now. But I'll be back." Reaper clapped a hand on his shoulder as he walked past and back towards the door. Jack stared on as his black coat fluttered behind him dramatically before his figure disappeared behind the steel door again.

When Jack came to again, he was still dangling by his wrists from the chains. It felt like every ounce of blood in his body had accumulated at his fingertips. Shit, he was going to lose his arms from circulation loss at this rate. Thankfully though, they at least had had the decency to put a step back under his feet. Maybe he wouldn't _totally_ lose an arm now. Just a part of one. _How gracious of them._

Jack heard heavy footsteps outside of the door again. Probably Reaper, he thought hazily, nobody else would wear ridiculous platform boots like that.

In strode Reaper, full black getup as per usual. "Hello, Soldier 76."

"Hello, Reaper," Soldier 76 mocked, trying to imitate the deep gravel of the wraith's voice. With a snarl Reaper kicked the step the step out from under him and again he was hanging. The sudden strain on his abdomen sucked the air from his lungs, making it harder to breath again. It felt like he could breath half of what he could before. Yeah, he could definitely do without this.

"Are you going to behave today?" Reaper asked, beginning his leisurely stroll around the soldier.

"Probably not."

"I see." Reaper paused, stopping in front of the mercenary. "How about we play a game then, mix things up. I'm going to name off a list of people, you stop me when one of the names strikes your fancy and you can tell me where we'd find them, hm?"

"Implying that I actually know where anyone is."

"Alright, let's begin. Lena Oxton."

Silence. Reaper cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"Angela Ziegler."

More silence. Reaper responded in turn by punching Jack in the stomach, the force of it sending him swinging in his chains. The extra movement exerted even more strain on his wrists, becoming more and more painful.

"Jesse McCree."

The wraith waited only moments before delivering the same blow to the gut. Jack cursed; every part of his body was screaming at him to make it stop, his brain wanting to just tell them what they wanted to know and _end this._ "I don't know where they are!" He gasped.

"If you don't know anything, then you're useless and there's no point in sparing your wretched life."

"Do it then!"

Reaper stepped forward, malice emanating from the hollow eye sockets of the skull mask. As he reached a clawed hand out, Soldier 76 swung his body weight out and effectively kicked Reaper in the head. The wraith fell backwards, clutching at his mask-covered face and shouting a string of obscenities. Soldier 76 withdrew, satisfied with himself despite the burning pain that was now shooting up and down his wrists. That kick would have killed most people, he thought, or at least knocked them unconscious, but he had a feeling that this Reaper guy was not most people.

"You fucking—" Reaper hissed, jerking himself upright, hand still on the mask. "I'm going to break your leg for that." Like a banshee he rushed forward, gripping at his shins. Despite 76's best efforts, he managed to get a hold of one leg, and slammed his elbow down onto his tibia. Jack screamed and watched in horror as his leg bent unnaturally, broken. The leg fell to the ground, limp and motionless.

All Jack remembered as he faded into unconsciousness was Reaper leaving the room in a blurry huff, and several more guards shoving their way through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

His mask. He had cracked his _fucking_ mask! He was more mad about that than anything.

Looking in the mirror, Reaper could see that there was a fairly wide gash at his brow, the blood a sharp contrast against his pallid skin. Shit, that was gonna scar. Just what he needed: more scars. His whole body was a goddamn scar at this point! Grabbing a cloth, he started dabbing at the wound.

There was a light knocking at his door. Now of all times, he thought, frustrated. " _What?"_

"It's your favorite hacker-extraordinaire."

Reaper sighed. He was rarely in the mood to deal with Sombra's sass, with right now being no exception. Scooping back up his mask, he attempted to strap it back to his face to the best of his ability and threw open the door. "What is it, Sombra?"

Sombra stood at the door, sassy as ever with one hand on her hip. She quirked an eyebrow, purple eyes scanning over the wraith in front of her. "...Did you break your mask, pendejo?"

"Observant as always," Reaper snarled. "Now what do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much, I just heard that you got your ass kicked and I wanted to see for myself."

"Well, you've seen. You can leave now."

"Your face is bleeding."

As if on cue, a drop of blood rolled down onto Reaper's under armor. He dabbed at it, never breaking eye contact. "So?"

Sombra squinted at Reaper, incredulous. Men could be so stupid sometimes! "I'm coming in," she announced, slipping past Reaper's massive form. "Honestly, what would you do without me?"

"Live a more nuisance-free life, probably." Reaper sighed. There was never room to argue with this woman. Between her and Widowmaker, he had dealt with enough attitude to last him a lifetime—and beyond. They were both stubborn as hell, but he honestly didn't mind their company most of the time _._ Sombra was the more entertaining of the two; he would never admit it, but he appreciated her sense of humor. While it clashed with his own stoic standoffish personality, it did always added a bit of entertainment to their missions.

By the time Reaper had closed the door, Sombra was already busy at work, rifling through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom. "Where do you keep your first-aid stuff?"

"In the cabinet beneath the sink." Once she set her mind on something there was no stopping her, Reaper had realized a long time ago. As long as she wasn't causing too much harm, Reaper usually allowed whatever harebrained idea she had. At the same time, however, he had no issue with pulling rank and putting her in her position. It felt good sometimes—cathartic, even.

As Reaper sat down on the lone stool in his room, arms crossed so that Sombra would know that he was _not happy_ , the hacker came sauntering back out of the bathroom with first-aid kit in hand. She made a noise at his obvious show of inhospitality and had to squat down on the floor instead. "I can't help if I can't see what I'm dealing with, _pendejo._ "

"I told you I didn't want your help in the first place, _Sombra,"_ Reaper hissed, drawing out the letters in her name.

"Hey." The hacker pulled away to square herself up with the other man. "Are you worried about how you look? Is that why you won't take the mask off?"

"No!"

Yes. While Sombra didn't consider herself a psychologist by any means, she could tell that her friend was _very_ insecure about his appearance—despite him constantly trying to prove otherwise. Why else would anyone wear that much clothing in this heat? It was edgy, sure, but it was a bit much. A lot much, in fact. "What if I pinky promise you that it won't bother me?" Not much could bother her nowadays anyway. She had watched firsthand as omnics broke into her home in the dead of night and slaughtered her family. It would be hard to top the horrors of that night. She put a hand up to Reaper's cheek.

It had meant to be a comforting gesture, but Reaper took it as an attempt to yank off his mask. His hand shot out and wrenched the hacker's hand away by the wrist. "Ow!" She jumped, more startled than in actual pain. "Touchy…"

"I said… _I don't need your help."_ Reaper was practically seething by this point, smoke funneling through the holes in his mask like an angry chimney. He softened at the look on Sombra's face. It wasn't fear in her expressive violet eyes, but hurt. Reaper huffed and released Sombra's wrist. He was getting weak in his old age. God he hoped that he wasn't going to regret this later. Knowing the hacker, she was probably going to use this as blackmail against him at some point in the future. Pulling the back hood he reached around his head to undo the straps holding the ivory skull mask in place. He had to be careful with it as to not aggravate the new crack in it any more. Trying his best to repress any emotions that may have tried to arise—he didn't need to feel anymore, damnit!—Reaper calmed himself and placed the mask in his lap. He quirked a scarred eyebrow at Sombra, waiting for any reaction.

Nothing. Her face remained a blank slate as she tried again to caress his cheek. Reaper let her this time, internally revelling at the first human contact he had felt in decades.

" _Muy guapo, Gabriel._ I'm sure you knocked the ladies dead back in your prime."

Reaper growled, not quite sure what to make of the praise. He wanted to argue, argue that he was not, in fact, handsome. Maybe back in the day, but not now. He didn't know too many people who would describe burnt and mangled flesh as _handsome_. He supposed he appreciated the attempt at praise though. Better than having someone flinch back in repulsion. "Alright, hurry up."

"Sure thing, boss." She reached into the first-aid kit and went to work. There was a large gash that had opened on his forehead, currently dribbling blood down his face and through the maze of scars. Ouch. That was definitely going to need stitches. The two remained relatively silent throughout the process, Sombra pausing occasionally to ask how Reaper was doing or if something hurt or to call him a baby when he grunted in pain. In the end, Sombra had to admire her work. She'd never tell Gabe that this was, in fact, her first time ever having done stitches. All things given though she didn't think she did half bad. And his face wasn't nearly as horrifying without the stream of blood on it. ' _Good job Sombra; thanks, Sombra,'_ she thought to herself pleasantly.

Reaper ran a gloved finger over his forehead, feeling the bumps of the thread poking through his flesh. "Thanks." Although it didn't show in his voice, he was grateful for the young woman. That would have been a bitch to fix on his own.

"Not a problem, Gabe." And with that Sombra was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack mentally felt like he could sleep for days. Now if only his body could get the memo that yes, he very much needed sleep right now. He would doze off on the cold concrete floor of his cell for minutes at a time before a searing pain—in his mangled leg, his stomach, his head—woke him up. It was a small saving grace that his hands and wrists had gone numb days ago, so at least he didn't feel the cut of the handcuffs into his skin. Instead, he just felt the burning tingle from the previous lack of circulation. His arms felt like they had fallen asleep years ago and were still trying to wake up. In retrospect now, whether that actually was a saving grace was to be debated.

Several people walked past his cell. He could see them from the small glass window on the door. Groups of Talon lackeys mostly, crowding around to gawk at the old Overwatch guy, He knew they were mocking him. He was sure that he didn't look like much right now; he could feel the fat and muscle already disappearing from his once built frame, leaving what probably just looked like a starved and scarred senior citizen in its wake. They had taken his clothes and equipment, only leaving him with a modest pair of grey sweat pants. A shirt would have been nice, he thought. These goddamned terrorists kept the place feeling like Antarctica, probably as a big 'screw you, we have money for AC' to the current boiling temperatures in Mexico.

An older lady with bright orange hair looked in. Disappeared. Reappeared. Waved. The vigilante would have flipped her off if he could only articulate his fingers.

Damn, he needed to get some sleep. At this rate he wouldn't even have the mental capacity to formulate an escape plan. He remembered enough of the facility, it shouldn't be hard once he got out of the cell. Him and Ana had gone over the plan several times before starting the operation: sneak in when that Juarez guy was asleep, download some quick files from his computer, slip out. The facility was minimal security in comparison to a lot of other bases he had broken into; this one should have been a piece of cake. However, there had been a slight hiccup in the plan. The minute he stuck that chip in the computer, a dark smoke had begun filling the room. The terrorist known as Reaper (Reaper? _Really?_ ) was there behind him, shotgun pointed to his skull. It was as if he had known ahead of time he was going to be there. Like always. Even though he had checked with _several_ sources that Reaper was supposed to be in Russia right now.

The layout of the base had been fairly easy to memorize at least. Hopefully his brain and body wouldn't give out on him when he most needed, like he was currently thinking it was going to.

The orange-haired lady came by again. Took some notes. Left again.

He dozed for a good 20 minutes before the sound of his cell door opening woke him again. Jack mentally cursed whoever had the gall to disrupt his 30 minute sleep-agony routine.

"Supper time." A Talon member in black riot attire entered, carrying a tray of what was supposed to be food. Behind him was the woman from before. Jack scrutinized her face. Her sharp features were distinct enough to where the vigilante felt a strong sense of familiarity. He muddled through his foggy brain, trying to recall exactly where it was he recognized her from before it hit him.

The geneticist Gabe had hired.

It didn't surprise him that she was working for Talon now. She had always been batshit crazy, pushing the ethical boundaries of Overwatch with every research project. He distinctly remembered the time back when he was the Overwatch commander when he had stumbled into her lab on patrol one night, only to be greeted by the sight of hundreds of dead rabbits drained of what could only be described as their life essence. A haunting sight, and the last straw before he forced Gabe to fire her ass.

"Soldier 76, I'm Dr. Moira O'Deorain."

Yeah, I know who the hell you are, Jack almost said out loud. He didn't know how much Talon knew about his vigilante alter ego, however, so he kept it to himself instead.

"I'll be your caretaker during your stay."

"My stay? That's a nice way of phrasing being held captive and tortured." The Talon lackey dropped the tray of food beside him. The red-haired freak nodded in his direction, and he left.

"I have a few personal questions to ask you. If you would be so kind as to answer them honestly—"

"Your friend with the skull mask already tried, lady."

Moira continued, not one to be interrupted by her subjects. "—you'll find that this will be most beneficial to you. Question one: what is your fondest memory?"

Jack snorted. "The time you let me eat and go back to sleep."

The geneticist paused, breathed. "Of course. Question two: what is your deepest fear?"

"You not leaving to let me eat and go back to sleep." Jack smirked. The lady didn't do a very good job at hiding her resentment. Professional or not, she was gripping that clipboard awfully hard right now. Probably not used to trying to get results out of people without brutal force. Amateur.

"Again, _sir,_ let me remind you that I am here to help you. I will ask again: what is your deepest—"

"You not leaving to let me eat and go back to sleep."

She was shaking, Jack observed. Her right hand was now clawing at the clipboard, long talon-like fingernails leaving scratches in the wood. She huffed. "I see you're not receptive to questioning right now. I will come back later."

"Don't bother."

With a final deeply frustrated sigh, the lanky geneticist turned around to leave the cell, placing her slender hand on the fingerprint reader until the machine flashed green and opened the door.

The shrill beeps of the scanner as Moira was leaving caught 76's attention. If he was going to get out of this godforsaken hell hole, it was going to have to be through that, unfortunately. Scanners made everything more difficult; Jack could usually pick a lock no problem. It was a skill McCree had taught him just for the hell of it many years ago, one that had come in handy numerous times doing missions for Overwatch, and especially during his time as a vigilante. Those skills were only for standard tumbler locks, however; McCree had never taught him how to lockpick _a damned security system_. He studied the device, trying to get his muddled brain to come up with something, anything.

The guard from before sidestepped around Moira, saluted her, and reentered the cell. He was a smaller man, definitely one of the lankier guards that 76 had seen around here, choosing to wear just the dark balaclava rather than the more intimidating standard Talon helmet. Maybe 5'4 on a good day. He would have been eaten alive in the military, 76 thought. Supposing that Talon even cared if their men were properly trained in the battlefield or not. He liked to think that no military man would sink low enough to join these scumbags in the first place—except for Gabriel, apparently. If this guard was supposed to be intimidating, then Talon was really pulling from the bottom of the barrel.

As 76 was sizing up the Talon guard taking his untouched food tray away, an idea finally sprung to mind. It wasn't going to be the easiest take down he had ever done, but it was very possible if done properly. The older soldier could have cried with relief. _This was his chance if everything went right._ He could only hope.

Soldier 76 murmured something.

"What?" The guard whipped his head around to focus on the vigilante, tray of food still in hand.

"I know where they are," he murmured again.

The guard carefully set the tray down this time, leaning in while focusing on the subtle movements of 76's mouth. "Where who is? Overwatch?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you finally confessing? Let me go get—"

"No, there's no time. Come here." He motioned with his head. His voice was low and wavering in an attempt to portray physical weakness. It wasn't hard to pull off at this point, if 76 was being honest with himself. It actually did feel as if he was hit by a train.

The Talon lackey eyed him suspiciously behind the balaclava. Finally, he yielded and crouched to the ground, cautiously scooting closer to the prisoner.

"Lena Oxton. She's…" As soon as the guard was in range, 76 slammed his forehead into the man's face. The guard let out a pained cry, wobbled in an attempt to regain his balance, and collapsed to the floor in a heap. Soldier 76 smiled to himself despite the stars that had burst forth in front of his eyes at the contact.

This was it. This was his chance.

He had to be fast. Frantically, he glanced around the room to make sure no one had seen the spectacle at hand. His watched the sole window in the cell for several moments. The coast looked clear enough. Trying not to look at the way his leg moved unnaturally with the movement, Soldier 76 heaved his body weight forward to scoot closer to the guard's unconscious body. His broken leg trailed uselessly beside him. After several attempts, he eventually managed to hook his handcuffed arms around the guard's torso. God, he hoped no one was around to watch this operose ordeal.

But if this worked, he was going to shit himself.

"The prisoner is gone!" Someone shouted from down the hall.

 _What?_ Could he relax for ten minutes without one of these clueless fucks messing something up? Sometimes Reaper sweared to god he was the only competent person in this damn organization. He practically kicked down the door to the cell, looking for whoever it was that had made the exclamation. There was a wiry guard in the corner holding his face while frantically searching the room.

"Where the fuck did he go?" Reaper slammed the man against the wall, holding him by the front of his blood-stained uniform. His nose was efficiently broken.

"I-I don't know, sir! He was here earlier, a-and I have no idea how he would have gotten out!"

"Were you on guard?"

"Yes, but then he—"

"Ugh!" Reaper threw him down onto the ground and phased back out of the room. Where could he have even gone? He had made sure that both his wrists were handcuffed before he had left earlier. Fuck! He scanned the hallway, looking for any trace of the escaped vigilante. He smirked as his gaze fell upon the slight trail of blood leading around the corner. _Found you._

It didn't take him long to find the emaciated body awkwardly dragging itself along. His leg was still broken awkwardly, a grotesque sight to behold. "Hey there."

Soldier 76 froze. Damn, he thought he'd have at least an extra hour before the wraith would show up. Figured that he never slept. "Hey." In no condition to fight right now, he chose to prop himself up against the wall instead.

"You're bleeding all over our nice floors."

"Whoops. Must have missed that part." Somewhere along the way a wound must have opened up. Great. Adrenaline courses through his veins, temporarily blocking a lot of the physical and hunger pangs.

"I have to take you back, you know."

"I'll pay you a nickel if you don't."

Reaper chuckled lowly. "A tempting offer. But no." He eyed the vigilante's mangled left leg. "Can you walk?"

"Barely."

"Good." The thought of breaking his other leg briefly flashed through Reaper's mind. That would show him for trying to make a fool out of him. There would be no guarantee that the excessive trauma wouldn't knock him out though. A shame. And what good was a hostage if they couldn't talk? He didn't have time to watch Soldier 76 crawl/hop back to his holding cell. Instead, Reaper elected to roughly throw him up and over his shoulder, ignoring the resulting grunt of pain out of the man. The task was easier than he had originally thought; the soldier weighed a lot less than he used to back in the day. Probably because he was looking like a starved dog by this point, but who knew.

By the time they reached the cell block, Soldier 76 had stopped resisting, choosing to lay limp on his shoulder instead. Reaper nonchalantly tossed him in the corner with a thud.

There was no response.

...Shit, did he kill him? His higher ups would not be pleased if he'd killed him so soon without learning anything about Overwatch. Reaper ghosted down next to the man to check his pulse.

It was still there. Good. He must have just passed out.

Reaper took the time while the soldier was unconscious to scrutinize his pallid face. He looked disheveled, to say the least. His silver hair was sticking up awkwardly in places, there were dark circles under his eyes. Hell, he probably hadn't slept in days. The wretch.

As he was scanning him over, a sense of familiarity swept over the wraith. Something about his face struck a chord. But he couldn't say exactly what it was. It hovered at the back of his mind just out of reach. Reaper cursed to himself. What was this? Pity? Something else? At this distance he could see his old friend in the vigilante's features.

At some point during Reaper's scrutiny, his subject had regained consciousness and was now half-lucidly staring back at him. Although Jack was no longer the golden poster boy he was before, his pale eyes still gave off the alluring confidence that they had had back during their Overwatch days together, many years ago.

"See something you like?" Soldier 76 quipped groggily.

"You look like a fucking train wreck."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

A minute of silence, then "Do you know who I am?"

The out-of-nowhere question took Jack by surprise, pulling his brain out of the fog. It took him longer than it should have to comprehend what he had asked. Did he know who he was? At some point in time, sure. Several decades ago he had known his partner better than he had even known himself. Now, he wasn't so sure. But Jack was almost certain the question wasn't referring to that. "Yeah, I know who you are. Took me a bit, but I don't know anyone else who'd have the balls to wield two shotguns at the same time like you do. Thought you were dead, Gabe."

Reaper nodded and reluctantly stood back up. He gave Soldier 76 one last kick to the ribs for prosperity's sake and turned to leave the cell. "Bind his wrists and ankles this time," he instructed a guard on his way out. "If he gets out again, it's on your head."

Reaper didn't know when he had been put on prisoner duty. Because he sure as hell hadn't signed up for it. There were dedicated people in Talon for prisoner interrogation, guarding, feeding. And yet Reaper found himself doing all three. It's not like he had other important stuff to be doing, no. This was just fucking _peachy._

"The guards tell me you haven't been eating or drinking the past two days."

"Did they also tell you that I haven't been able to move my arms and hands to eat or drink in the past two days?"

"..." Those fuckers. "Your hands were unbound. What's the problem?"

"Something's wrong. I can't move them."

At least the vigilante was honest about his medical problems. It was probably some sort of nerve damage from being suspended for so long. Most of the people they interrogated didn't stick around long enough to sustain serious damage. But Soldier 76 was a special case, one of the rare few that had to be kept alive. Reaper could probably have Moira come in and fix 76's arms later if it turned out to be permanent. "If you don't start eating, we'll just hook you up to an IV by force."

"Don't bother. I'd rather starve."

Reaper sighed. It felt like he was talking to a petulant child, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with this right now. "IV it is, then."

Soldier 76 looked up, fixing Reaper with his pale blue gaze. "Unless you'd rather feed me by hand, Gabriel."

"Don't call me that."

He smiled, knowing that he had struck a chord with the terrorist. Most people wouldn't have been able to notice the subtle mannerisms, the slight clench of Reaper's gloved fists. But 76 knew his old comrade—old lover, even—almost better than he knew himself. When your life depends on another teammate having your back in the heat of battle, you need to be able to read them at a moment's notice. "Sorry. Habit."

Rage filled Reaper's gaze as he quickly closed the gap between himself and the vigilante.

And punched him square in the face.

76 spat out a mouthful of blood, having accidentally bit his tongue on impact. Yeah, he would definitely feel that tomorrow. But it was worth it just to watch the cloaked figure angrily storm back out of the room.

"You said you caught him trying to break into a Talon stronghold?"

"Yeah, the base in Castillo. Caught him downloading the contents of _someone's_ non-encoded laptop." Reaper gave a pointed look to a stout mustached man at the end of the conference table. "Sombra, after we're done here follow Mr. Juarez back to his office and encrypt _all_ of his personal electronics."

"Can do, boss," Sombra piped in, deeming her nail filing to be more important than paying attention than the meeting. .

"And what did you do with this Soldier 76, Reaper?" Asked Maximilien, steepling his mechanical fingers.

"Threw him in confinement. Torture. Standard protocol. We're currently trying to extract the locations of the other Overwatch members out of him. To no luck."

"You always were soft on him. You had your chance to kill him in Giza, but you didn't." Doomfist spoke calmly. His back was turned to the Council of Leaders as he looked out the darkened window at the arid landscape instead. "If this were anyone else they'd already be dead."

Reaper bristled at the accusation. How did he know about that little slip up back in Giza? Not that it was even his fault that the mission had failed; he hadn't been expecting a certain other ghost from his past to show up. He'd have to do some poking around to find out who had told Talon the specifics. "He has vital information that we need, Doomfist. He's worth more to us alive than dead."

"It's been over a month. What have you learned from him?"

"Nothing yet, but—"

"They're probably looking for him now," interrupted Doomfist, referring to the scattered members of Overwatch. "What happens when they do find him? I go to jail again? One of our own dies? Admit it, you have your own selfish reasons for—"

"Woah, looks like we got a professional psychologist over here!" Sombra snickered, having finally put down the nail file to listen in on their conversation. "Put a sock in it already, _Akande."_

" _That's enough, Sombra!"_ Reaper snapped as plumes of dark smoke began steadily rising around him. Nobody fought his battles for him.

Maximilien interjected. "Reaper's right. Soldier 76 could serve as a valuable asset to us. Sanjay and I were talking earlier, and we think we've come up with a solution to our little interrogation problem."

"I'm listening," bit Reaper, attempting to his current murderous rage.

" _Operation Widowmaker._ "

"What exactly are you implying?"

"It's quite simple," the omnic began, rising from his spot at the table. "Who would know the location of Overwatch better than a former Overwatch member? And who would Overwatch trust more than a former member? It's perfect." He started mechanically pacing around the conference room. "We brainwash Soldier 76, have him eliminate the remaining members of Overwatch, and train him to be _our_ perfect soldier. After all, it worked so well last time," he stated matter-of-factly, nodding at Widowmaker sitting silently at the other end of the room. "And then Talon will be free to do as it pleases."

"I don't like it. It takes the satisfaction away from a proper kill." Reaper had a suspicion that the present Talon leaders, save Sombra, believed that Soldier 76 was just a former Overwatch member. They didn't know that he was so much more than that to them, that he was their former _leader_ prior to the explosion. It was probably for the better. If Talon knew that he currently had Jack Morrison tied up back at base, they would be breathing down his neck nonstop. Reaper wouldn't give them that satisfaction, especially that smug bastard Doomfist. "Besides, I want every last one of them to fall by my own hands."

Doomfist smirked, finally turning to face Reaper. "I knew you'd gone soft."

"Says the man afraid of clowns…" Sombra murmured under her breath.

Reaper fixed the hacker with another glare before continuing. "I have everything under control back at base."

"Good, then I trust you will be able to fully support Dr. O'Deorain during the procedure," stated Maximilien in a mockingly perky voice.

The lanky geneticist straightened in her chair at the mention of her name and smiled. "Indeed. I am looking forward to this experiment."

Reaper shot up. If he didn't ever have to work with that lunatic scientist again, he would be more than happy. Even Jack deserved better than whatever bullshit experiment Moira was cooking up in her brain. "I don't—"

"Good. Then it's settled then."

"Fuck!" Reaper slammed his fist into the wall once they were out of sight. For decades he'd been in this goddamn organization. He had a bit more power than some robot and his fuck buddies, yet here they were! You couldn't just go around brainwashing everyone at the slightest inclination when torture was a sure-fire method! Reprogramming took time and resources. More than they currently had. And O'Deorain's little "projects" were expensive as shit to fund. Did they even have any idea what mess they were about to get themselves into?

"Why do you let them walk all over you like that, Gabe?"

"Don't call me that. And it's not a matter of _letting_ , it's a matter of those fucking idiotic higher ups thinking they can do whatever they please just because they pay me." The duo was leaving the conference building on their way back to the jet.

"Why don't you, like, do something about it then if you don't like it, _pendejo_? I don't always listen to my higher ups." Sombra winked up at the taller man. "I'm my own independent woman."

"Some of us are adults who actually care about job security, Sombra," retorted Reaper.

The hacker put on a dramatic feigned pout, overtaking Reaper in the hallway. "You wound me."

Several minutes of walking went by before the hacker could no longer stand the thick silence. She slapped a hand on Reaper's back. "But hey! I would have paid big money to see you get into a fist fight with Doomfist."

"Shut up, Sombra.

Soldier 76 was woken by the shrill sound of metal on concrete. He groggily opened his eyes, sticky with lack of sleep and dehydration, to find Reaper dragging a chair into his cell. On the chair was a tray of food.

"Twice in one day? To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Shut your fucking mouth."

The vigilante was not in the mood to argue. Every inch of him was miserable. His arms were still useless, several limbs were still broken, he hadn't slept in days. He was falling apart, to say the least. A part of him wished Talon would just get this find and over with and assassinate him already; death had to be better than these repetitive sessions of interrogation and sitting in a cell for 20 hours. Yet a part of him still wished to live, just to make their life more difficult at the same time. Where was Ana? Was she even looking for him at this point?

Reaper pushed the chair in front of 76, throwing the tray of food on the floor. Something brown sloshed into the floor. "Eat," Reaper commanded, lowering himself to straddle the chair.

Soldier 76 quirked a gray eyebrow at the tray of food in front of him. It looked disgusting, but hunger had been gnawing at his bones for the past several days. "We've talked about this. I'm not shoving my face in that." His stomach growled in protest.

"You're going to starve."

"And?"

Reaper hissed in frustration, something he found he did more often whenever he was around the other man. The IV idea from before hadn't worked; Reaper found out that this particular facility apparently hadn't been outfitted with the proper resources for IV feeding. Real glad that they hadn't told him that earlier. "Sombra refused to try and feed the ex Overwatch commander, and he didn't trust any of the lackeys to do it without getting their skulls split again. So now Reaper, world-renowned and feared terrorist, was stuck playing nanny with the Boy Scout. "Of all the fucking…" He grabbed the tray and the plastic sport from the floor and stabbed a questionable piece of meat. He held it up to 76's mouth expectantly. "Here."

The soldier eyed the chunk of meat suspiciously. It didn't look like any meat he'd ever eaten before, but there wasn't much room to be picky, he supposed. "It's too big. Is the idea here for me to choke on it and die?"

Black plumes of smoke began rising off of Reaper, but he haphazardly cut at the meat per his request anyway. " _Here."_

That was a bit better. Soldier 76 sniffed at the food, drew away to examine it better, and finally took the plunge and took it in his mouth. _This is definitely not pork or beef_ he thought, hesitantly chewing on it. It was unbelievably dry. But it was food. And food was food.

Several minutes of Reaper feeding 76 by hand went by in relative silence. The vigilante couldn't stop thinking about how out of character this whole interaction was. Usually the hooded terrorist wanted as little interaction with him as possible, yet here he was feeding him processed carrots from a spork. Life was just funny like that sometimes.

"What have you been up to since, you know, _then?"_

Now there was interest in his personal life? "You know, just living the persona of a man who died 20 or so years ago. You?"

"Living the persona of a man who died 20 or so years ago."

Jack found himself snorting a bit at that one. "I guess we're both just shadows of our former glory days, huh?"

"Speak for yourself. I've never been more powerful."

"Yeah?" 76 settled himself into a more comfortable position, focusing better on Reaper now that the pangs in his stomach were slowly starting to subside. "You like all this creepy ghost crap and wearing that skull mask?"

"Do you like wearing _your_ mask?" asked Reaper with a tilt of his head, referring to the visor they'd taken from him.

"Deflecting the question, but touché."

"It's uncomfortable," Reaper conceded, allowing himself a small moment of honesty. The wraith form was also extremely uncomfortable, but his prisoner didn't need to know that.

"I'd believe it. Looks hot as hell."

"You're not wrong."

"..."

An awkward silence followed, neither one not quite knowing what to say to the other or where to start.

Soldier 76 coughed, the motion sending a wave of pain through his chest. "Gabriel—Reaper—for what it's worth, and I know it's not much… I'm sorry."

Reaper tilted his head curiously. "For what, exactly?"

"You know…" He hadn't been expecting to explain himself. "Everything. For not listening to you in the first place. For not keeping a closer eye on Blackwatch. All of this happening to you. For _us_ falling apart." For you having so much hatred in your heart. A million things, if he was being honest.

"Good. You should be." Reaper stood back up from his straddling position on the metallic chair, tucking the chair back under his arm. Without another word, the wraith was gone from the room.

"So you were hand-feeding the prisoner, huh?"

Reaper about dropped the chair at the woman's voice behind him. And he didn't startle easily. "Sombra! What did I tell you about translocating in the base?"

"Translocating? _Muchacho,_ I've been here. You're the one who ghosted all up in here."

Reaper chose to ignore the Latina, focusing on putting the chair back where he found it instead. She was like a damned magnet that could always pick up when he most didn't want to talk to her. And right now was one of those times; he just knew that she was going to pry, despite probably already knowing exactly what was said in the cell.

"Doesn't seem like a very Reaper-y thing to do, in my opinion."

"Because you refused to do it, you damned ingrate."

"Yep. You could use the work on your social skills."

"Did you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?"

Sombra smirked. "The latter. As usual."

"Great. Now go away. I have paperwork to do." The hooded terrorist took off in the opposite direction down the hall, the bright overhead lights shining off of his leather coat as he walked. A smaller set of footsteps joined him.

"So what's the story between you two?"

Reaper whirled around angrily to face the woman. "Wouldn't you of all people already know that?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to find decent information on him. Besides, I want the inside scoop."

"We were comrades back in the day. There's nothing to talk about." The words came off of his tongue like venom.

" _Just_ comrades? He apologized for 'what happened between us.'"

"Go. Away." The words came off of his tongue like venom.

"It seems like you like him, so why didn't you just accept the apology and—"

Like a bull seeing red, Reaper rushed forward and slammed the hacker into the wall, the mounted lights rattling in their base. He gripped the lapel of her jacket and bent uncomfortably close to her ear. "Because no one likes a half-rotting freak that kills civilians, Sombra. Is that what you wanted?"

Wide violet eyes stared back at him.

Sombra sniffed. She knew when she had gone too far, and this was definitely one of those moments. Even though he may refuse to admit it, Gabe was her friend. She was a lot of talk, but she honestly hadn't meant to upset him like this. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to… y'know."

Gabriel sighed. Fuck, he was wasn't even in the wrong here and yet here he was feeling bad. Damn woman and her _feelings_. He released her lapel, sending her crashing back to the ground. "Walk with me."

Getting her way didn't feel nearly as satisfying as it should have, thought Sombra. This was more akin to giving up rather than the usual 'if I concede Sombra will go away' treatment. Giving up was not a good color on her friend; he was a lot more entertaining when he was just being an angsty edgelord. Either way, she followed.

"What is it exactly you want to know?" Asked Reaper lowly.

Sombra hesitated. Good question. What was it she wanted to know, besides just his entire life story? Like a game of 20 questions, she knew she would have to be careful with what she asked before Reaper shut her out again. Regaling her with an autobiography was probably not an option. "You two seem like you have history. How did you and Soldier 76 meet?"

"We were part of a soldier enhancement program back in the day. We were partnered up during it—me being his mentor—and it just so happened that we were both selected by the government to be a part of it."

"Why did you two, you know, stop being friends then?"

"Because he betrayed me. They brushed me aside to Blackwatch while he got all the glory being Overwatch's beloved 'Strike Commander Morrison' _._ Because of them, I became _this."_ Reaper gestured to himself, referring to his decaying flesh. "He never appreciated me. "

"Hm." Sombra chewed on the wraith's words. This story sounded extremely biased. But Reaper was definitely a drama king, so honestly she wasn't surprised. It was interesting hearing his perspective, though, all things considered. It was a rare treat to hear Reaper express himself outside of _I'm angsty and like to kill things._

"Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, Gabe." Sombra didn't want to push her luck by asking anymore questions. She was already walking on thin ice just by asking him about his personal life. If she was patient enough, maybe another moment like this would present itself one day. Maybe.

Reaper scoffed. "Don't call me that. And it's not like I had much of a choice."

"Mmmhm." _Because I was totally holding you at gunpoint to talk to me_ , thought Sombra. She smiled. Might as well let him keep his pride. For now, anyway. "Later, Gabe." With that Sombra, much to Reaper's annoyance, translocated out of there.

Soldier 76 thrashed against his restraints as the sheet was placed back over his nose and mouth, water threatening to fill his lungs with every panicked breath. Mere seconds stretched on into what felt like the most agonizing hours of his life.

"Talk."

Shit. _Shit._ He needed to get out of here. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible. His brain felt like it was overheating from the lack of oxygen, his lungs spasmed painfully. Jack had been waterboarded before, but never like this. The exercise during his training had been terrible, sure. It had definitely been one of the more miserable moments of his existence. But at least he had taken comfort in the fact that it would be brief, that he could end it whenever. With this, he didn't know how long Reaper would go. And at this moment he held the life of every single Overwatch operative in his hands. He couldn't fail them, he _wouldn't._ But it was proving to be so goddamn hard right now.

All he had to do was give up one person.

A new stream of water started rolling down his face into the cloth, threatening to spill into his nose. Reflexively, Jack gasped at the contact. Some began dribbling into his mouth, effectively choking him. Shit, he was going to die here.

Just one person.

They'd understand—

Just like that the cloth was pulled from his face. 76's bare chest heaved violently with exertion as he tried to cough the water out of his airways. He inhaled sharply in an attempt to fill his oxygen-deprived lungs.

"I can go all day, Jackie Boy. I cleared my schedule just for this."

Reaper stood impatiently above him, having grabbed a new bottle of water from the table beside him.

Jack shuddered. It was so cold in that room. The water had soaked his hair, every fiber of his being. If only he could move his damn arms!

"All I need is a location."

"Gabe, please!" Jack sobbed, hot tears threatening to spill over. He cared about these people; he'd never hand them over! He would die first.

Reaper tsked in feigned disappointment as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle. "Hate seeing the great Overwatch strike commander like this, reduced to a pathetic sniveling mess. But I'll get over it." He reached down and put the soaked cloth back into position.

Jack wept for the first time in six years.

Reaper absentmindedly rubbed at his gloved knuckles. They were still sore, even with his healing abilities. That wall back at Talon headquarters had been a lot… _harder_ … than he had originally thought. In retrospect, maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to punch a hole in it. Because of both the pain and the wage dock Reaper would no doubt receive until their precious wall was fixed.

Several Talon guards on patrol filed past him as Reaper made his way to the barracks, most of them choosing to stay far out of his way. Probably for the better right now.

Reaper whirled around at the sound of heels clicking on the floor behind him. It was Moira.

"Ah, Reaper. Just the person I was hoping to see."

That's never a good sign, Reaper thought with a huff. Unless she was coming to see him about her retirement; then that might be okay. "What's up, doc?"

Moira smirked at the wraith's pitiful reference. "I was hoping to discuss the upcoming operation with you."

"What about it?" He narrowed his eyes at the geneticist. "I thought you had everything under control."

"I do. But I wanted to propose possibly moving the operation date forward by three weeks."

Three weeks? Jesus Christ, that was in four days. "Gee, thanks for the notice. The necessary accommodations haven't been made yet, have they?"

Moira grinned, her heterochromatic eyes bright with excitement. "The equipment arrived ahead of schedule, and the necessary staff will be here tomorrow! All we need to do now is set up and wait."

"Why not just wait until the scheduled date?"

Moira sidestepped closer to the wall in order to let a line of guards pass by. "The longer we wait, the great the possibility that a rescue team comes for Soldier 76—or the remaining members of Overwatch scatter to the point where even he doesn't know where they are anymore. In addition, I've been observing him and I believe that the prisoner is finally starting to break. Despite the fact that he has refused to answer my line of questions that would have aided the process, the time is right to proceed in my opinion."

Reaper scoffed. "Are you even qualified for this?" He was stalling by that point, he realized. The operation they were proposing was barbaric; he had done his fair share of murder in his life, but nothing compared to what had happened to Amélie. She was a shell of who she once was, now a soulless machine only designed for killing. Even death was a better alternative, in his opinion. What good was killing someone if they were just an automated vessel void of personality? Amélie was gone, replaced with Widowmaker. If he was being honest with himself—which he rarely was—he didn't want the same to happen to Jack. To anyone.

"As a geneticist, I have a strong background in numerous sciences, including chemistry and physiology. I've read over the notes from _Operation Widowmaker,_ and I believe I am more than qualified to oversee this simple procedure."

Simple procedure? Reaper snorted. _Simple my ass._ This process had taken Talon years to develop; hundreds of subjects before Widowmaker had either died or gone irreparably insane while the procedure was perfected. This mind alteration only seemed simple because Moira was an egotistical ass who apparently could do no wrong. She suited Talon well in that sense. "And what exactly does this 'simple procedure' entail?"

Moira quirked a red eyebrow at Reaper. "I gave a presentation to the board last Tuesday. Were you not in attendance?"

"Oh damn, must have missed that one." Reaper replied, his abrasive voice oozing with sarcasm. Like he'd go to that fun fest. "Give me the summary."

The geneticist sniffed indignantly. "Well. The short and sweet version of this is that first we would bring in Dr. Hans—you remember him—to begin the conditioning process. Through a mixed approach of operant and respondent conditioning, we will basically rewire Soldier 76's mind to believe that his sole purpose is to serve Talon. Since we apparently cannot torture the information out of him," Moira paused, the corners of her mouth upturned slightly, "we'll just have him go to Overwatch instead. After he has been properly conditioned, I will step in. Since he already has adequate training, I will run a few… experiments to genetically enhance his already existing abilities."

Reaper's jaw tightened. "What, are you also gonna turn him into a monster?" He asked bitterly, holding up his own smoking hands.

She shrugged. "Maybe I'll give him wings, or have him breath fire. Who knows." Moira's smile faded when she noticed that Reaper did not appreciate her humor. "Oh, lighten up. It was merely a joke."

"Jokes are supposed to be funny."

Moira carefully studied the man in front of her for several moments, chewing on her lip. "Are you not enjoying your powers, Reaper? I provided you with some of the latest breakthroughs in genetic nanotechnology."

He snorted. "My skin feels like it's constantly being simultaneously sloughed off and ripped from my body. Going into wraith form feels like my bones are breaking. But other than that…"

The geneticist seemed genuinely disappointed. "You asked for my help. You asked me to make you stronger than Morrison, and I helped you the best way I knew how. You were happy with it, once. But I am sorry if you don't like the results."

"You're not sorry about what happened. You got the _scientific advancement_ out of me that you needed for your research. And you're about to go do the same exact thing to that man in there."

"A pity." Moira pivoted on her heels to leave. "I have preparations to do for Thursday. I will talk more with you later, Reaper."

"...He's been calling for you for the past two hours!"

"What the hell does he want?"

"I don't know, he won't tell us!"

Soldier 76 was roused from his troubled sleep by the sound of muffled voices outside of his cell door. Through the window, he could see two men exchanging heated words back and forth. They were talking about him, he realized hazily. The door opened and the duo entered, stopping a couple feet in front of his slumped position on the floor.

They stood there awkwardly for several moments, Reaper tapping his foot impatiently with crossed arms. "Well?"

Soldier 76 eyed the other guard, hoping that Reaper would get the hint; he was uncomfortable talking in front of Talon's lesser cronies. They would chatter, and eventually word would probably get to _her._ He couldn't have that. "A little privacy?" A man could hope, anyway.

Reaper hesitated, his armored arms still crossed, thinking. "...Fine. But this better be good." He nodded at the guards, who promptly left the room. Reaper snapped his gaze back to 76. "What?"

76 frantically gave the room a once-over before slumping back into the corner. "What are they planning on doing to me?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

"What do you mean?" Reaper's gaze fell on 76's leg that he had broken. It was inflamed and oozing something, almost double the size it was last time Reaper saw it. He cringed at the grotesque sight of it.

"I know they're planning on doing something to me. More and more people have been coming in, questioning me. I've seen them wheeling equipment past here. This isn't standard, whatever is going on." He coughed and lifted his head. "What is going to happen to me, Gabe?"

Reaper sighed. Jack had, admittedly, always been the more observant one out of them. Even in his weakened state he was still sharp as a tack. Shit. Reaper took a knee, leveling himself with 76. "They're going to brainwash you."

Soldier 76's pale eyes widened, the color draining from his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it. His eyes searched Reaper, looking for any indication that the wraith was lying. "Oh." The vigilante fell silent, gaze dropping to the floor. "Just like Amélie."

Several minutes of silence stretched on between the two, with 76 continuing to stare at the floor, searching for answers.

"I have a deal for you, Jack."

Soldier 76 slowly lifted his gaze back up to where Reaper's eyes should be behind the starch white mask.

"Tell me where they are, and I'll see what I can do about stopping all of this."

Soldier 76 winced, his eyes screwing shut. He drew out a long shuddered breath, coughed. Reaper made it all sound so easy. Tell him where they were and he would stop beating him, or starving him, or drowning him, or keep them from brainwashing him. Ideally he should have been dead months ago, just ended this all. He was far too old for this shit, and yet here he was. "You and I both know I can't do that. These are my comrades— _our_ comrades. The very ones that would gladly take a bullet for us." He smirked slightly. "I can't tell you the number of times Angela brought me from the brink of death, or Ana covered my back, or Reinhardt protected me from an onslaught of bullets, or… No, Gabe. I can't betray our comrades like this."

"They're no comrades of mine. They left me to die back in Switzerland."

"You and I both know that's not true. Maybe you didn't see it, but I watched as that entire goddamn team mourned over us, over _you._ Wondered what drove you over the edge, what they could have done to help you before you became a terrorist." Another fit of coughing came over 76. He growled in frustration, smacking himself on the chest in an attempt to loosen the phlegm in his lungs. "They loved you, Gabriel. I loved you."

Reaper did his best to ignore the spew of emotional bullshit coming out of the vigilante's mouth. "There are two options in this scenario. You tell me, and you get to live out the rest of your life here in this cell as Jack Morrison. Who knows, maybe if you behave yourself you could even work for Talon one day. You don't tell me, and you become an emotionless husk, viewing life through a pinhole in your subconscious. I'd rather you die as your old honorable self, personally. But it's your choice."

"There's no honor in—"

"Fuck honor. Make a decision."

Soldier 76's mouth snapped shut in response. Neither option was particularly honorable; he would die a traitor no matter what he picked. Damn! He threw his head back into the wall, ignoring the pain that blossomed in his skull from the impact. "What the fuck do you want me to do? I…" 76 asked, to no one in particular. His expression hardened as he took a shaky breath.

"Kill me."

Reaper narrowed his dark eyes behind the mask, focusing on the broken man in front of him. "What?"

"Kill me." There was new determination in his pallid features. "Give me this one act of mercy."

Reaper chuckled, a dark rumble in the back of his throat. "Have you ever known me to be particularly merciful?"

76 fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. "Once upon a time, yes. I knew a Gabriel Reyes who took pity on scrawny scrap of a human in the Deadlock Gang, took him under his wing like his own son." That seemed like so long ago now. He coughed. "Please, Gabe."

The wraith paused for a brief moment, then rose from his squatting position. "No."

The wild, frantic look returned to Jack's eyes as fear crossed his face. "Please, Gabe! Don't let them do this to me! Kill me!" He was desperate,

"Begging doesn't suit you, Jack. Just stop."

"If you won't, then I'll do it myself before they can touch me!"

Reaper had no doubt that the former strike commander would actually follow up with his threat. Visions of his ex lover biting his tongue off, or bleeding out, or repeatedly beating his head into the wall clouded his vision. He shuddered, just a bit. The damn bastard took this whole honor thing way too far; Jack refused to die a traitor. Reaper looked over the man one last time before turning to leave the cell.

"N-N… Gabriel, please!" His voice was strained.

"Restrain him—arms and legs. Gagged. Chain him to the wall. I want 24/7 surveillance." Reaper commanded the guard outside the room as he opened the door.

"Gabriel! Please!"

Reaper eventually managed to tune out the howls as he walked farther and farther away.

Reaper stared up at his ceiling, counting the brown water damage spots over and over, tracing their shape with his eyes.

Four spots.

He needed to tell maintenance about them before he ended up with the ceiling collapsing in on him or something in his sleep.

He couldn't sleep.

Not that he needed much sleep in the first place; that was the funny thing about having almost no metabolism anymore. His cells were already simultaneously decaying and rebuilding themselves; he didn't really need silly things like sleep anymore to repair his body. It sure was a hell of a time killer though, something he could definitely use right now. His thoughts were racing a thousand miles a minute. Reaper found that they often drifted back to Jack.

He couldn't get that damn image of their last encounter out of his head, of Jack practically sniveling at his feet for him to kill him. That wasn't the Jack he knew. Jack didn't grovel, he didn't beg. Did he suck up sometimes? Sure. But only when it was for the better of others. Reaper remembered when Jack would come back from his meetings with the UN, exhausted. The strike commander had admitted to hating being in the public eye. But he was good at it, naturally charismatic and persuasive. Better than him in that sense. Gabriel Reyes had also hated being in the public eye. He didn't suck up like Jack did, and he didn't let people suck up to him. Where Jack was charming and friendly, he was often distant and brutally honest. Where Gabriel Reyes was the better leader, Jack Morrison was the better public figurehead. And this, despite him being more qualified than Jack, was the reason he was swept under the rug by everyone.

Reaper glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 3:12. Shit, he needed to get to bed. If not for his body then to make these damn intrusive thoughts disappear. He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. A self-indulgent hobby. Reaper smoked more to calm himself down than anything. There was something relaxing about the repetitive motions, of the bright cherry ember at the end of each cigarette. Withdrawing a lighter, he lit the end and inhaled the pale smoke. McCree had introduced him to his very first cigar many years ago. "Puts hair on the chest," he had claimed in a particularly celebratory mood one day after the two had successfully finished a mission together.

It tasted and smelled like shit.

But once upon a time, he wasn't one to ruin a good time. So he finished the cigar.

Afterwards he discovered that cigarettes were a much lighter (and _slightly_ better) alternative. Rather than sharing a cigar with McCree after a mission, he'd pull from his personal cigarette reserve instead—much to Angela's chagrin.

Now his lungs were consistently damaging and repairing themselves, cigarette or not. Yeah, fuck you and your _warnings_ , Angela.

3:25.

With a final exhale he snubbed the cigarette out on the bedside ashtray. Although they were rare, Reaper _hated_ nights like this. Dwindling on the past was toxic; what was done was done. He had a new life now, one dedicated to getting revenge and seeing the downfall of every last member of Overwatch. Gabriel Reyes was dead, buried in the charred ashes of Overwatch headquarters. No, he had to let The Reaper flourish in his place.

3:37.

Reaper sighed, collapsing back down onto the creaking mattress. He needed to get a new pillow, this one was no longer cutting it. Also needed to tell maintenance about that water damage.

An hour passed. Sleep would not come to him. Not tonight. The wraith growled in frustration, finally chucking his pillow across the small room.

He kept thinking about that piece of shit.

A part of him, an intentionally repressed part that was supposed to be long dead, kept rearing its ugly head. Reaper kept thinking about what they were planning on doing to their little _prisoner_. There was no satisfaction in it. While Reaper would usually revel in someone else's misery, this was somehow different.

He kept thinking about Jack. Groveling.

No, even he didn't deserve a death like this. If Jack was going to die, it would be from his claws around his neck. Not from him breaking down in a cell like a rat in a cage.

Reaper's body moved on a whim, throwing on the pieces of his armored uniform like clockwork, the mask going on last. He grabbed his dual shotguns from their spot on the wall and placed them in their holsters beneath his coat.

He found his were legs carrying him down the hallway towards the prison barracks.

The halls were dim, the lights turned down to conserve energy. The LED bulbs hummed faintly. It was eerily quiet in the base, as if everything had come to a standstill in anticipation of what was about to come. Reaper couldn't even believe what he was about to do. It would take zero energy for him to just turn around and go to bed as if this had never happened. There would definitely be fewer consequences, that much was certain. Yet Reaper pressed on, the sound of his heavy footsteps filling the air. Since when had he ever been afraid of repercussions?

There were only a handful of guards in the hallways guarding various rooms. He nodded to them as he passed in an attempt to remain as innocuous as possible. To pretend as if several people probably weren't going to die that morning.

In a cloud of smoke Reaper burst into wraith form and rounded the corner into an adjacent air vent. Although it wasn't his favorite means of travel, it was good for when he wanted to avoid confrontation (most of the time). Because of this, he was more familiar with the base's ductwork and circulation system than any single person should be. As he crossed the base, Reaper could see down through the vent coverings into several different rooms; most people were asleep, unsurprisingly. Good. That meant that there would hopefully be less work for him in the end. After several moments, Reaper drifted back out of the ducts. His skin and ligaments flared with a searing pain as his human figure reformed from the mist. Christ, he would never get used to that.

Reaper briefly poked his head around the corner. Two guards were standing there idly chatting outside of his destination. His trigger fingers itched. But he'd have to be smart about this if he was going to pull it off successfully.

He casually walked around, as if he hadn't been standing there for several minutes. "You're both needed in C-sector," Reaper instructed, shrugging.

The two men glanced at each other, confused. "Both of us? We're supposed to be on duty until 5 though."

Reaper shrugged again. "I'm just the messenger."

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably and spoke up, his voice wavering slightly. "If we leave our post again, then—"

"I know you wouldn't want to disappoint me by not following orders, would you?"

"N-No, sir." The two men briefly saluted before jogging off. Reaper sighed as the tension in his shoulders subsided slightly. Sometimes being feared proved to be more fruitful than being respected—something Jack could've learned a thing or two about.

He waited several moments for the two to be out of sight before looking into Soldier 76's prison cell. The white-haired man was huddled in the corner, his forehead resting on his good knee. Reaper couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. In the end, it didn't matter. He could deal with the rude awakening as long as he got out of here.

With a deep breath, Reaper focused intently on a spot inside the cell through the glass pane and willed his body to enter. In an instant his body dissolved and was reassembling itself past the steel walls. Jack made no motion to react to the sudden intruder in his cell. Asleep probably, Reaper figured. However, as he approached the still figure, 76 languidly trailed his gaze up. He fixed Reaper with a glassy stare.

Reaper knelt down next to the vigilante, keeping his voice to a low hush. "I'm getting you out of here. Don't you fucking say a word or I'll break your other leg." His newest threat, it seemed. With that, Reaper tucked a hand around 76's waist and hoisted him onto his shoulder into a fireman's carry. 76 was surprisingly compliant about being carried, Reaper noted. Good. He didn't trust the soldier to not be slow as shit right now. And time was of the essence if they were both going to make it out of there alive. Ideally, no one would even see them. If not, at least Reaper had a free hand for shooting.

Making sure the coast was clear, Reaper shoved the fingertip of his glove under his mask, gripped it with his teeth, and tugged. He placed his scarred hand against the reader until it beeped cheerily and opened the door. Hastily, Reaper shoved the glove into a coat pocket and preceded down the hall.

Reaper had seemingly walked this path a thousand times before. God willing, it'd be as unguarded as it usually was. He really didn't want to have to unnecessarily kill someone. The duo passed the holding cells and armory, towards the lesser populated rear. Reaper wished he could go into his wraith form right then. His nerves were starting to get to him—a rare occurrence. Unfortunately, the form could only carry himself short distances and definitely not the dead weight currently on his shoulders. They would have to make do on foot.

After several close calls, the two eventually made it to the eastern exit. Frantically, Reaper typed his pin code into the keypad. It flashed red. Again he put in the code, only to be greeted by the same red light. Hd cursed; he knew the code was right, unless his fucking birthdate had suddenly changed. Again, to no luck. Reaper slammed his fist into the keypad.

"Gabe?"

Shit. Reaper stiffly turned around to find Sombra standing there, still in her pajamas. Her violet eyes flicked between him and the man currently laying across his soldiers. "What's going on?" She squinted at the other man, trying to identify the face partly obscured by the wraith's broad shoulders. "Is that… the prisoner?"

 _Shit._ Reaper's brain went into overdrive, trying to think up a convincing excuse for the hacker. Some sort of alibi. In the end he resorted to what he knew, and drew a shotgun from its holster with his free hand. "Sombra. Open the door."

The hacker stared at him, down the barrel of the shotgun, mouth agape. She drew a nervous breath. "Where are you going?"

"Not far. I'll be back in a bit. If you can keep security off of me, anyway."

"You know they'll—"

"Open the fucking door!" Reaper snarled.

Sombra flinched, stepping away from the gun currently pointed at her. She pulled up a pink digital display before her. "Fine. I'll open the door for you. But you owe me big time. I'm not bailing your sorry ass out this time." She put in a sequence of numbers and the keypad flashed green, slowly sliding the door open. "You know they'll find you, right? That they'll catch on and kill you both?"

"Maybe." Reaper readjusted the dead weight on his shoulders, causing 76 to grunt in pain. The sun was just beginning to rise above the dark skyline as Reaper set foot outside. The morning chill swept over them, the air not yet warmed by the climbing sun.

Sombra poked her head out the door after them. "Be careful, _pendejo!_ " She called before withdrawing back into the base. Her teasing smile faded. What was he thinking? If he was caught, there was no way they would take him back. Knowing Talon, they would kill him the minute they got word both that both he and the prisoner were missing. No questions asked. Sombra sighed, brows furrowed with worry. She hoped that he knew what he was doing.

Christ, Jack was simultaneously a lot heavier and lighter than he remembered. Heavier in that Reaper had probably never carried his dead weight around for half a mile like this before; lighter in that this was also the smallest he'd ever seen him. In his prime, Jack has been the definition of a picturesque—rippling with sleek muscle, blonde, charismatic. Obnoxious. Now he was emaciated to what felt like a mere 150 pounds, muscle having atrophied to keep his starved body alive. A shame, really.

The sun had risen enough to shine in Reaper's eyes, only slightly dimmed by the black mesh behind the eye holes in his mask. His battle plan: avoid security, get Jack far away enough from here to drag himself to safety, return to base as if nothing had happened. No one caught on, no one died, return later to kill Jack himself. It was a good idea, Reaper thought, except for the fact that the temperature was steadily rising and that he was going to get real uncomfortable in the heat real quick. The faster he could get this done and over with, the better.

Reaper shot a glance at the Talon base. From the outside it looked like a typical storage warehouse that was occasionally patrolled by guards. Better to not raise suspicion of the public eye, seeing as how it wasn't too far from the nearest city. Civilians would riot if they knew there was a Talon stronghold nearby. With a trained eye, Reaper was able to spot several security cameras attached to the outside of the wall. There was a pixelated purple halo surrounding each one, resulting in the cameras conveniently being pointed in the opposite direction of where he was headed. Reaper smirked, and continued trudging on.

After they had traveled what Reaper deemed to be an acceptable distance, he slumped Soldier 76 back to the ground. The vigilante groaned in protest at the rough treatment, sitting up to rub at his sore neck. He coughed violently.

"I got you a present," Reaper announced. He reached under his coat to unclip a yellow biotic transmitter from one of several belts and tossed it at him. "I nabbed that from the shit we took from you. Figured you might need it."

Soldier 76 gripped the device and stared at it dumbly, turning it over in his hands repeatedly.

"For your leg, jackass."

The vigilante nodded slightly in response. He pulled the trigger on the device and set it down. A wave of warmth spread over him as the biotic field was emitted, engulfing him in its cheerful yellow light.

Reaper watched in interest (and slight disgust) as the tissues in 76's leg seemingly wove themselves back together, creating a mesh of new skin, muscle, and bone over the wound. Reaper occasionally glanced at 76's face to judge his facial expressions, his face twisted in silent pain. Eventually the leg managed to straighten itself out from its previous mangled form until the limb appeared as good as new under the sweatpants. 76 sighed in relief. Technology still managed to impress him; he would have to look into getting some of those for the rest of his men.

"Now," Reaper commanded, looking down at Soldier 76, "get out of here."

76 stared back up at him, wordless. His blue eyes were glassy and vacant.

"Did you hear me?" Reaper was starting to lose his patience. It wasn't every day that he offered this kind of opportunity to someone. "Go. You're free—for now. There's a city over there to the east. You can see some of the buildings from here."

Soldier 76 laid down in the dirt.

At that moment, the sound of men shouting filled the air. Reaper shot a look over his shoulder at the Talon base, only to find a swarm of soldiers frantically searching around its perimeter.

Reaper could have screamed in frustration. At the man laying in the fucking dirt in front of him, at the current situation, at himself for thinking this was a good idea in the first place. "Get up!" Reaper whispered venomously, landing a kick to 76's ribs. The vigilante grunted in pain but continued to stare up at the sky. "Get up or they're going to take you back!"

76 lazily turned his head to the side to gawk up at Reaper

He didn't have time for this. If they saw him here, helping the best piece of intel they'd had in years escape, there was no way Talon would take him back. This was supposed to be a simple slip in, slip out, return before anyone knew he was gone. He hadn't counted on Jack being fucking _brain dead_ or whatever the hell was happening here. Reaper eyed the Talon soldiers. They were steadily spreading out. It wouldn't be long before they saw them, even in the current low light condition.

" _Get up!"_ Reaper was seething by this point, black smoke angrily curling around the two of them. He continued his assault on 76's ribs, only to have the vigilante curl up on himself groaning. After a few good kicks Reaper stopped, disillusioned. "You want to stay here and get captured? Fine. Have fun getting lobotomized in there." With a final scathing glance at the man beneath him, Reaper shadow stepped to the roof of the Talon base in a flourish of dark mist.

More shouting and running now. One of the guards had spotted something in the distance. Good, Reaper thought. That would teach him. Hopefully none of them had seen him. Might as well sit and watch the turmoil unfoil; he didn't have anything better to do right now. At least more entertaining, anyway. Reaper squatted on the rooftop, gaze drifting over the horizon. His eyes fell on the form of Jack still on the ground.

Idiot.

At least nine Talon men rushed over to him, equipped in full tactical gear. Two of the men dived on top and pressed him to the ground; another man came around with handcuffs.

An uneasy feeling settled in Reaper's gut at the sight. There was something extremely unsettling about the way Jack was letting himself be manhandled like this, silent and without resistance. Reaper took a knee, placing a hand over his eyes like a visor to shield them from the excess sun. From the roof, it looked like there was not the slightest hint of a struggle between the two factions. Absentmindedly, Reaper traced the hastily fixed fracture in his mask from when Jack had landed a kick to his face during one of their first sessions together. There'd been so much anger, so much _derisiveness_ in it. And now he was out there writhing in the dirt like a fucking _worm._ Something was wrong. This wasn't Jack. What good even was a rescue if Jack's mind was still in there in that cell, or in the interrogation room, or lost to one of those conditioning probes or something? No, this wasn't right.

It was this kind of thinking, Reaper thought as he was already jumping off the roof of the building, that got him stuck in this predicament in the first place. The moment Reaper hit the ground he burst forward in a stream of ink-like fog. He swept over the sands leisurely, never once making contact with the ground as he closed the distance between them.

By the time he got there, the Talon operatives already had the vigilante in handcuffs and were starting to drag him away. Reaper swept under their legs and reformed behind the group, cackling. He reached out and pulled the nearest unsuspecting guard to him. Arms wrapped around the guard's neck and with a quick _snap_ he unceremoniously fell to the ground, lifeless. Alerted to his presence, the rest of the men turned around in surprise and went to draw their assault rifles. Unluckily for them, Reaper was much faster. He drew his shotguns from their holsters and fired, quickly taking out four of the guards. Being careful to step around Jack—who was still curled up defensively—Reaper swept a leg under another and turned his fire on the man now sprawled on the ground. The blood was roaring in his ears, effectively tuning out whatever it was the other guards were shouting at him. Mostly obscenities, some screaming, Reaper mentally gathered as he turned to the remaining three men. Their rifles were raised and aimed at him. Six shots were fired: two of them pierced Reaper's armored vest, embedding themselves in his shoulder and in the side of his abdomen; three of them found their way into the skulls of the three remaining Talon operatives. In a spray of crimson, their limp bodies fell to the ground.

Reaper surveyed the bloody scene around him with a callous eye. Nine dead. Yep, that was going to be pretty hard to explain to the higher ups. It had to be done—not that they would understand his reasoning though. Hell, even he didn't fully understand his own reasoning. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, he could feel the intensely hot pain beginning to radiate throughout his torso. The wraith snarled, throwing his shotguns to the ground in a huff. That'd probably have to be patched up; easier said than done given his current situation. He threw off his coat and took off the top layers of his uniform. Pulling out a pocket knife from his belt, Reaper cut long strips of fabric from the bottom of his coat and used them to wrap the bullet wounds. He redressed.

With a sigh, Reaper turned to see how Jack was doing; far better than he was at the moment, it seemed. He was still curled in on himself, handcuffed arms stretched out in front of him. _What a miserable looking wretch_ , Reaper thought. He stooped down to pat at the deceased guards' pockets until he found the key to the cuffs. He quickly undid the metal binding around Jack's wrists.

"Get up. I'm in no condition to carry you right now."

He was met with a resounding grunt from the other man.

Jesus fucking Christ. It was like caring for an infant. Reaper glanced over his shoulder at the Talon base. They probably heard the gunfire. It wouldn't be long before backup arrived. And it still seemed as if Jack wasn't going to make any attempt at actually moving. Great.

Stepping back over the bodies, Reaper scooped up the vigilante. He grimaced in pain, bullet hole in his side being agitated, as he threw Jack over his good shoulder and set off towards town

Castillo was a small town, only a short walk away from Dorado's bay. Many individuals of questionable repute—namely a deadly faction of Los Muertos—called the sunny locale their home. Despite the town's welcoming appearance, it housed a number of heavily graffitied bars and drug lounges. Here, nobody really cared who you were or where you came from as long as you minded your own business. For that, Reaper often chose to come here over the much more populated city of Dorado.

Dr. Banderas was one of the last respectable men left in the town. His office was above a small family-own shop at the corner of the town. A frail soft-spoken man in his 60s, Reaper often chose to visit him over the Talon-provided doctors. At least this guy wasn't mandated to report every single visit and malady to his higher ups like _they_ were. A small comfort in a world where everything he did was scrutinized.

"So he's been catatonic like this for the past day or so, you said?" Dr. Banderas questioned, tying off the last of the stitches in Reaper's shoulder.

Reaper grimaced at the feeling of his skin being tugged. "Yeah. Maybe longer, I'm not sure. He was like this when I found him though." He was conflicted if he should tell the good doctor about the whole brain-washing thing. It'd be hard to describe without sounding like a conspiracy theorist. And he had told Banderas about some pretty crazy things. "May be some kind of brain thing. Or something."

"Well," the doctor began, wheeling over to the other man sitting in an adjacent chair, "it'd be hard to say for certain without doing a brain scan–something my office does not have the resources for, unfortunately. However, I could refer your friend here to another hospital, if you'd like."

"No thanks, doc. Trying to stay on the down-low for a bit."

"Ah." The older man shot Reaper a knowing-yet-disapproving glance, but continued to prod at Jack. "His vitals appear normal, fortunately. Has he experienced any sort of trauma recently?"

"You could say that."

"Ah. I won't pry for the details, but it's normal for patients to experience dissociative episodes after a traumatic experience."

If only it were that simple, Reaper thought, watching Jack idly play with the stethoscope around the doctor's neck. Where exactly on the trauma spectrum did attempted mind control lie?

"Give him a couple of days to gather himself. If it seems there is no improvement, I highly recommend taking him to at least a psychiatrist if you won't take him to another hospital."

 _Dump him off at the doors. Got it._ "Alright." Reaper hopped off of the exam table and went to put on the rest of his clothes.

"As for yourself, make sure you keep those wounds clean. Change the dressing as needed. Bedrest—if that's humanly possible for you." He lowered his glasses to glare at the wraith. "I'll get the antibiotics in later today. Do you need a refill on the nanocodeine?"

"Please." Reaper slid the alabaster mask back over his face and walked over to Jack. "Thanks for patching us up today, doc."

"My pleasure. Please take better care of yourself, Gabriel."

"You got it." With that, Reaper scooped down to throw a catatonic Jack back over his shoulder, despite the doctor's disparaging _tsks._ "C'mon, boy scout."

Everything was foggy.

It was as if he was viewing life through a pinhole. Nothing made sense. The stuff that did make sense took all of his concentration to comprehend, exhausting him further.

"...It was our first year in the SEP, I think? And you hid an entire raw chicken in my locker…"

His head was spinning. What was happening? He could see fine, but it was as if nothing was connecting to his brain anymore. Seeing and hearing, but not comprehending. This had been going on for an what felt like an eternity.

"...When we first met Reinhardt…"

His eyes were closed. He could feel the cool sensation of something under him, something on top of him. There was something propping his head up. He needed to leave. Had to get back to Talon. They were missing him. They would hurt him again if he didn't. Had to finish therapy so he could be happy again.

"...Omnic crisis…"

Jack opened his eyes, just a bit. The world was blurry and out of focus. It took him several moments before he could recognize anything—shapes, colors, light. They came together to make the picture of a room. He was in bed. There was sunlight coming through the window—daytime. Someone else was in the room with him. The other bed.

"...Brought Fareeha in to visit. You were furious with her because she drew a dog on your paperwork with pink crayon. Ana just laughed..."

He didn't recognize these names. Did he know these people? He needed to go back to Talon. Colorful pinpoints of light danced behind his eyes.

"...Found him in the Deadlock Gang…"

Jack turned his head to focus better on the other person in the room. Did he know him? His voice was dark, frightening. What was he talking about? He stopped his conversation when he noticed he was looking at him. Smiled. He kept talking. Jack didn't listen this time.

Jack awoke with a start. Damn, how long had he been asleep? It felt like months. His back was hurting from the mattress and his throats was painfully dry. Groggily, he glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. 4:05 PM. Well, there went a day. He glanced around the room, only to find that he didn't recognize any of his surroundings. It looked like a hotel room of sorts, but he didn't remember booking a room anywhere. The last thing he remembered was that he had been—

Shit.

Jack shot out of his bed like he'd been shot, only to instantly regret it. A sharp migraine-like pain exploded at the front of his head, sending him sprawling back into his bed. Nothing was making sense. Why was he here? Was this still in the Talon base? He didn't understand!

The vigilante scooted to the edge of the bed and cupped his head between his hands.

He needed an Ibuprofen. Or a double shot of whiskey.

The last thing that Jack remembered was that he was still in a prison cell. There was a struggle, but he didn't remember what for. The geneticist was there. And then he woke up here. His migraine seemingly worsened every time he tried to remember the missed time. He glanced down at his leg. It had been broken before, the bone jutting out just below the knee. But now it looked almost as good as new, save for the angry purple bruise that covered about half of his leg. Tentatively, he stepped down and put light weight on it, only to instantly recoil away; it was still _very_ tender.

"The doctor said that'll need more time to heal."

Jack shot up from his bed again at the intrusive voice in the room, instantly regretted it again. His eyes shot to the corner of the room, trying to find the source of the sound. By the doorway stood Reaper, arms crossed in front of his chest. He tilted his head slightly. Jack could feel his blood pressure already dropping, his heart rate rapidly accelerating in compensation. In a blind panic, he grabbed the alarm clock from the table, held it between them poised and ready to throw. He backed away to the edge of the bed.

Reaper laughed lowly. "Like a scared little puppy. Now that's what I like to see." He uncrossed his arms, threw his hands up in surrender instead. "Glad to see you're finally awake though. I was bored to tears."

Jack lowered the alarm clock, but didn't move from his spot. He didn't have the will or even the strength to fight right now, but he wouldn't let him know that. Not when he was vulnerable and exposed like this.

"Mind if I take a seat?" I suppose you have questions."

To be honest, he kind of minded. He was in a dirty pair of sweatpants and he could smell the stench of sweat and grime on himself from not having showered in weeks (months?). His head hurt too much to try and be civil with the terrorist, yet he did have seemingly hundreds of questions for him. Jack didn't say anything, but instead nodded at the bed across from him. "Where are we?" Jack rasped. His throats was dry and the words felt foreign on his lips.

"Castillo. More specifically, a motel in Castillo." Reaper stalked over to the bed and sat down.

The vigilante blinked. Castillo? "So we're not…?" He coughed violently.

"Nope. Broke you out of there about a week ago."

"Why did you…" All of this was making Jack's head hurt even more. It didn't make sense. Why would a Talon figurehead of all people break him out? "Why?"

Reaper shrugged. "Good question. I don't fully know myself. Don't get any ideas though; you're still on my shit list, Morrison. This changes nothing between us."

Jack nodded. He didn't know what he had been expecting, honestly. That was a perfectly normal response for Gabriel. He'd always been vague. "Alright, last question for now, I guess; I have a splitting headache and want to go back to bed. While I was, uh, unconscious, what happened exactly? I have no recollection of what happened recently."

Reaper chuckled and placed his hands on his spread legs, as if preparing to tell a long story. "A lot happened. It's kind of a fun story, actually. Extremely degrading for you, though." The wraith proceeded to tell the man opposite him exactly what had happened since when he blacked out in his prison cell: of Talon's almost successful attempt at brainwashing him, of their escape, of the time Reaper killed several guards single-handedly while Jack rolled in the dirt (he made sure to emphasize that aspect), of their arrival in Castillo.

Jack took it all in, slightly slack-jawed at how much he had missed. He had no recollection of any of it, not even of Talon reconditioning him. He was most impressed by all of the effort that Gabe had gone through to get him here, even going so far as to spend his own money on rooms. From what he had gathered about Reaper from their past few encounters, he wasn't the kind to indulge in such niceties. Gabriel maybe, but not Reaper. Maybe there was hope for him yet. "So what's your plan now, now that you're possibly on Talon's naughty list?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Haven't thought about it much."

A small piece of hope lit up in the vigilante. "Have you thought maybe joining up with Ana and I? There's a lot of shady stuff happening nowadays, and we'd welcome the extra help."

Reaper chuckled and shook his head incredulously, rising up from the bed. "There's clothes and antibiotics for you on the dresser. Antibiotics are next to them; apparently your little healing device doesn't work on infections. Checkout's tomorrow at 9. Don't charge up my credit card." With that, Reaper sidestepped around the bed and turned to leave.

"Gabe, wait."

He stopped.

"Thanks for uh, all this." Jack ran a shaking hand through his silver hair. Honestly, he didn't fully know why he was thanking him. It was because of him that he had ended up in that situation in the first place, that he was tortured for weeks on end. "Thanks for not letting them take me."

Reaper nodded slightly. "If I see you again, I'm not leaving until one of us is dead."

Reaper was at his wit's end. For four days they'd been holed up in this hotel. He was going to lose it if something exciting didn't happen soon. He could only read the same four newspapers so many times before he had practically memorized the words on each page. The internet got dull after a while—a whole lot of sensationalism and not enough entertainment. He didn't get any enjoyment out of TV anymore. The motel he had booked their room in, _El Gran Motel,_ was small and simple, meant only to be a place to shower and sleep. As long as there weren't roaches crawling on the walls Reaper wasn't too picky about where he slept. And it was in his very limited budget, so he supposed he couldn't complain too much.


End file.
